ST. PAUL. 



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ST. PAUL. 



<y 



BY 



REV. S. MILLER HAGEMAN, 

AUTHOR OF "VESPER VOICES," "GREENWOOD," 
"PRINCETON POETS," " SILENCE," ETC. 




NEW YORK . 
THE AUTHOES' PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

1880. 



.(.^ 






Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1879, by 

THE AUTHOES' PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 






I 



^r- 



TO 



MY FATHER. 



FOR 



THE HONOR IN WHICH I HOLD HIM. 



(5) 




*« A -r-zn 






ST. PAUL. 

In the gloom of the Mamertine prison, 
In the cloak that from Troas was 
brought, 

Ere the star of his soul had arisen, 
Sat the white-haired apostle of Thought. 

The strugghng light of the candle, 
As o'er his pale forehead it fell, 

Shone dimly, on toga and sandal. 

Shone dimly, on chain and on cell. 
. (7) 



8 vS T. PA UL . 

The fire of his dark eye was flash- 
ing 
Its gleams from an aquiline face; 

And the dream of his spirit was dash- 
ing 
Its mould with a classical grace. 

The form of his frame, lithe and slen- 
der, 
By sickness and suffering was drawn; 

But the power of that soul in its splen- 
dor, 
Lit the dark of his face like a dawn. 



ST. PAUL, 9 

Through the blood-spattered floor, cold 
and solemn, 
A fountain wept out of the stone ; 
And a cup on the shaft of a column, 
That still to the traveller is shown. 
In its gloom was nor crevice nor grat- 
ing, 
In its wall was nor window nor 

door; 
For those who within it were waitinp- 
I^or Death, came not forth evermore. 



lo ST. PAUL. 

The Tiber, through great carven arch- 
es, 
With bannerol, trumpet and throng, 
Still sounding of navies and marches, 
Sweeps by those grim walls, sadly 
on. 
Flow brightly, Romanian river, 

But ne'er shall thy fast-rolHng flood, 
Though it wear in its channel forev- 
er, 
Wash out thy dark waters of blood. 



ST. PAUL. II 

The mould on that dungeon was crust- 
ed, 
And dashed, with the pulse of the 

dead ; 
The chains on its prisoners were rusted 
With tears, that their captives had 
shed. 
In the stain of its shadow there slum- 
bered. 
Far back in the quiet of time. 
Full many a horror unnumbered. 
Full many a pageant of crime. 



12 ST. PAUL, 

Oft thither in triumph, the Roman, 
Had brought from the battle-field 
bound, 
With falchion and banner, the foeman. 
To be thrust through the Tullian 
round. 
And thither, with rabble and jostle, 
Like his Lord at the prick of the 
spear. 
They hurried the Hebrew apostle, 
With cursing and volley and leer. 



ST. PAUL, 13 

He came, with the air of a stranger, 
To the death he so long must have 
known ; 
He blenched not at dungeon or dan- 
ger 
Nor shrank from his pallet of stone. 
Within the Imperial city. 
Through which years before he had 
passed 
A conqueror, chill to all pity ; 
A captive, it found him at last. 



14 ST. PAUL, 

'Mid thousands of homes he was home- 
less, 
'Mid thousands that knew him, un- 
known ; 
But there Hngered one there in his lone- 
ness 
With whom he was never alone. 
'Twas not for his glad eye to greet him, 

'Twas not to behold him from birth ; 
That his spirit at midnight might meet 
him, 
Whom mortal, he met not on earth. 



ST. PAUL, 15 

What cared he for death? in deaths 
often 
The shadowy form he had seen ; 
Till in fate there was something to 

soften 

E'en itself, by what it had been. 
For as an island lonely, 

That lifts its palm at sea. 
Seems fit for an exile only, 

So seemeth that lone soul to me. 



i6 ST. PAUL. 

He felt not the fetters that bound 
him, 
He heard not the sentinelled pace, 
He saw not the walls that around 
him 
Frowned down on his wonderful 
face. 
He feared not, for God was his keeper, 

He felt but His Spirit within ; 
And his soul like the dream of a sleep- 
er. 
Was free from the bondage of sin. 



ST. PAUL, 17 

What though the Imperial eagle 

Might brighten its crest in the 
sky ? 
Caught up to the realm of the regal, 

His wing-footed soul was on high. 
What though in his fancy escaping, 
He roamed the blue hills of his 
birth ? 
Wert thou free thou wouldst still but 
be shaping 
Thy wings in the prison of earth. 



i8 ST. PAUL, 

Thoug-h aged, they could not appall him, 

A prisoner, they could not pursue ; 

They might chain, but they could not 

enthrall him, 
They might crush, but they could not 

subdue. 
And though in their triumph they bind 

him 
Hand and foot to the blood-breathing- 

ground, 
'Twas enough that his bonds might 

remind him, 
That the Word of his God was not 

bound. 



5" T. PA UL . 19 

I wot not in days of his childhood 

By mountain and river and glen, 

When he wandered unwatched thro' 

the wildwood, 
Was he ever so free-born as then. 

I wot not when nature's sweet kind- 
ness, 
Grew cold in that cavernous night, 

Like Milton imprisoned in blindness, 
Were ever its glories so bright. 



20 ^ T. PA UL . 

Full oft had he climbed with emotion, 
The great mountains that shot up on 
high 

Over Tarsus, and seen on the ocean, 
Their slopes, like Heaven's towers 
from the sky. 

And thus, on his memory reflected, 
Time's shadows fell solemnly now ; 

As when in their grandeur erected 
They built their strong thoughts on 
his brow. 



ST. PA UL. 21 

Farewell for thee, father and mother, 
Thy boat lightly swings by the sea; 

Farewell for thee, sister and brother, 
Farewell home forever for thee. 

Little reck they the fate that had 
sounded 

Its death-knell over his soul ; 
Or the beckoning hand that was 

rounded 
For him, where the blue billows 

roll. 



22 ST. PAUL, 

O Genius ! how hardly we cherish 

Thy sumptuous gifts to the world ; 
Till, the rare souls that proffered them 
perish, 
And the colors of life have been 
furled. 
O shame on the ripe earth over, 

For the mouths that never were fed ! 
Till under the snow and the clov- 
er, 

They were filled with the dust of 
the dead. 



5 T. PA UL 23 

The foliage, dreamy and tender, 

Waved fresh on the Cyprian isle ; 
The cities he passed in their splen- 
dor, 
Once more in the sunlight did 
smile. 
He saw down the distance unbro- 
ken 
The sail of his ship on the sea ; 
And he knew that the words he had 
spoken. 
With its pennon went flying and 
free. 



24 vS T. PA UL . 

Through the wild-roaring forests of 
cedar, 
Through the night-haunted jungles 
of pine, 

He passed, without ally or leader, 

Save the stars that above him did 
shine. 

Was ever such traveller stranded 
On the shadowy eyot of earth ? 

Was ever such wanderer landed 
An exile on shores of his birth ? 



ST. PAUL, 25 

Where the sun on Eurymedon quivers 
From the SegUan heights to the 
sea; 
In perils of robbers and rivers, 

Thrice scourged and thrice ship- 
wrecked was he. 
In perils of city and prison, 

By hunger and sickness bested, 
He was stoned by the mob in deri- 
sion 

And dragged through the street as 
one dead. 



26 5 T. PA UL . 

O the visions that often and often 

Thronged back on his memory there ! 
Of those who like him, loved to soft- 
en 

Their fate, with the spirit of prayer. 
Of Christ, in the Forum's Commo- 
tion, 

Of Moses, on Nebo afar, 
Of John, in the islanded ocean, 

Alone, 'neath the sentinel star. 



ST. PAUL. 27 

The beast in the crowded arena, 

No longer fell dead at his spear ; 
The sounds in the Grecian sescena 

No longer provoked his dull ear; 
The hoof of the horse on the high- 
way, 

To distant Damascus was still ; 
No more to his cursing reply they, 

Nor wheel at his terrible will. 



28 ST. PAUL. 

The stones that he hurled upon 

Stephen, 
Rose up in his dungeon around, 

Till each one, chill and glossy, seem 

ed even 

Alive, with a face and a sound. 
O God ! there's no presence like ab- 
sence 

That comes to a human heart ; 

And nothing, in widest space, that can 

keep 
Two souls that have met — apart. 



ST. PAUL. 29 

Chained prisoners came crouching be 
fore him, 

To mock him with manacled hands; 
Sad voices swept hauntingly o'er him, 

Like night-winds o'er dim cypress- 
lands. 
Sure never hath rowel or rider, 

Urged harder the fast-flying horse; 
Sure never hath memory grown wider 

To tighten the rack of remorse. 



30 ST. PAUL, 

He thought of them all as they only 
Can - think, who, with tremulous 
breath, 
Draw near once again, late and lonely, 

To the dead, through the doorways 
of death. 
And grand must have gleamed to his 
vision, 
The sword, howe'er fiercely it shone; 
That struck through the gloom of his 
prison, 
A light on his crown and his throne. 



ST. PAUL, 31 

When the great Night wipes up soft- 

ly 

The blood-drop of the sun, 
From the earth, where all too oftly, 

Its deeds of strife are done : 
Sleep falls on the moil and rattle. 

With dew from the dreamy sky ; 

Like faint music on fields of bat- 
tle. 
Where the dead and the dying 
lie. 



32 ST. PAUL. 

'Tis then that the broken features, 

And wrinkles in frames grown old, 
Are the chinks through which God's 
dim creatures, 

Catch twilight of things foretold. 
And thou, spite thy dying sorrow, 

Did'st thou not in thy darkened 
woe, 
By faith, for thy vision borrow. 

The light that shines never below. 



ST. PAUL, 33 

What is it that makes him to Hnger, 
So long o'er each cycle and clime ; 
While the frostwork of history's finger 

Melts off on the background of Time? 
What is it that makes kings grow rest- 
less, 
That from their strong thrones they 
bow down, 
To mark though his bare brow be 

crestless, 
^ The gleam of the soul's muffled 
crown ? 



34 -S* r. PA UL . 

He came, — but without observation, 
Like the kingdom of God that he 
bore ; 
He came, — without herald or sta- 
tion, 
To those he had not seen before. 
The sail of his vessel blew gently 

By cities, where oft on the tide, 
With music, and banner and entry, 
Great navies had sailed in their 
pride. 



ST. PA UL, 35 

With a lone winged haste like the 
raven 
That never returned to its rest; 
He founded the church that stands 
graven, 
On the globe from the East to the 
West. 
He pierced with one deep intuition, 
The shadow of Time to the last ; 
He swept such a sphere with his vi- 
sion. 
That the Future lay trampled and 
past. 



36 ST. PAUL. 

He preached, but no council installed 
him, 

He prayed, but no hand blessed his 
head ; 
The voice of Jehovah had called him, 

To stand in his glorious stead. 
What churchman had e'er such com- 
mission ? 

What preacher such spirit and call? 
Contented in every condition, 

Contained in whate'er might befall. 



ST. PAUL. 37 

Heresiarch ! faster and faster 
The world throngs that wonderful 
youth. 
Heresiarch ! So was thy Master, 

Though front the clear forthright of 
Truth. 
Like to Him with thy countenance shat- 
tered, 
Thou barefooted beggar, begone ! 
Like to Him with thy palium tattered, 
Wan Tatterdemalion. 



38 ST. PAUL. 



They told him that others were teach- 
ing 
Strange doctrines, he never had 
taught ; 
Twas enough if but Christ they were 
preaching, 
Whether falsely or truly they 
wrought. 
His spirit like summer was mellow, 
And his soul like a tree, on whose 
top. 
The ripe fruit that hangs red and yel- 
low, 
Has nothing to do but to drop. 



ST. PAUL. 39 

He stood in the dazzling splendor 

That on the Acropolis shone ; 
Where thousands bent thirsty to ren- 
der 
His corse to precipitous stone. 
He stood there with spirit undaunted, 
As the eagle-swan stands in the 
sun : 
And held the hushed thousands en- 
chanted, 
Till the day over Athens was done. 



40 ST. PAUL, 

He lifted up Christ in his beauty, 

Colossal o'er sect and o'er creed ; 
To draw all men to him in duty, 

As the sun in the sky draws the 
seed. 
He frowned on the forms of division, 

That fence men, for trifle, apart; 
He broke down the walls of parti- 
tion, 
And the world felt the beat of his 
heart. 



ST. PAUL, 



41 



He spake not of city or building, 
He sung not of statue or art ; 

For a glory, unearthly, was gilding 
The kingdom of Heaven in his heart. 

And though by their pageants sur- 
rounded, 

Like the lily that sees not its stem ; 
'Mid the music with which they re- 
sounded, 

'Twas of Christ that he thought, not 
of them. 



42 ST, PA UL 

He burned up the books, Superstition 
Had heaped with a sorcerer's hand, 

As she sat in the gates of tradition, 
And stared hke the Sphinx to the 
sand. 
Bought up from his boyhood a bigot, 
He turned from the Jew to the 
World ; 
And preached, where the sail of his 
frigate. 
On its far distant shore was un- 
furled. 



5 T, PA UL . 43 

Brought up in the empire of battle, 

Brought up in its pride and its 
flower ; 
WJiat wonder that force was his chat- 
tie? 
What wonder his passion for power? 
But never a conflict so splendid, 

Hath sent through the round earth 
its thrill, 
As that 'ere his warfare was ended. 
Was waged with his conquering 
will. 



44 ST. PAUL, 

He stood in the furnace of passion, 

And conquered its heat and its 
stride ; 

He stood at the forum of fashion, 

And vanquished its power and its 
pride. 

He stood in the strength that is weak- 
ness 
To those who have felt not its birth; 



With the might of invincible meek- 



ness. 
He moved the whole empire of earth. 



ST. PAUL, 45 



The shape of his only ideal, 

Was one he could never attain ; 
It rose o'er the realm of the real, 
But victor, he followed in vain. 
He moulded his soul on the meas- 
ure 
Of God, and not of his own. 
He laid up his crown and his treas- 
ure. 
For the deed that shall never be 
done. 



46 ST. PAUL, 

Will no one, alas, come to open 

These gates warm with freedom's 

breath ? 
Brave heart, must thou perish unhol- 

pen 
Save but by the Angel, Death? 

Is the world to come but a bubble, 

Blown off at a child's mouth in 

air? 
Is this life but a cheating trouble 

Lost clean out in thy cold grave 
there ? 



ST. PAUL. 47 

Can it be that the love and the 
beauty 
In mother and child are in vain ? 
That stern Death is doing- its duty 
O'er that which shall Hve not 
again ? 
Furl back, mists of space, from dead 
faces 
Furl back, if mayhap, as before. 
They may come softly out in old 
places, 
And look on us warmly once more. 



48 S T. PA UL . 

The soul, like a shell that is sound- 
ing 
In a strange foreign land of the sea ; 
Sings an echo that ever is rounding 

The Kingdom of Heaven in me. 
And sometimes its murmur seems 
faintly, 
As it folds round the spirit within, 
To waft from the shores of the saint- 

ly, 

The sound of its vast silent din. 



ST. PAUL. 49 

It sings to me in the shadow, 

It sings to me in the sun, 
It sings in the bird and the mea- 
dow, 

And its song is never done. 
I know not if Death shall sever. 

My soul from the years to be ; 
But I know that forever and 
ever, 

It sings and it sings to me. 



so ST. PAUL, 

Go, Doubt hide thy wan face for- 
ever, 
In the gloom of that TuUian hold ; 

Come thou forth upon earth again 

never 
To vex men till time shall be told. 

Immortality! Christ hath arisen, 

By night from the rock-riven 
tomb, 
And shines o'er captivity's prison. 

The star of the great World to 
come. 



ST. PAUL, 51 

Great multitude no man can number, 
Calm beautiful homes of the 
Blest ; 
The heart, though it throbbeth in slum- 
ber, 
But knocks at thy closed doors for 
rest. 
And thought, like a night-bird, lone- 
ly, 
Breaks its wing on thy walls in her 
flight 
Ah ! Death's rusty night-key only 
Can open the Palace of Light. 



52 ST. PAUL, 

Go think of him, ye, on whom hght- 

ly 

The load of transgression hath 

pressed ; 
Go think of him, ye, to whom nightly, 

Sleep brings but the dream of un- 
rest. 
Go think of him. Genius, God-gifted, 

Whose wrecks, like unpiloted ships. 

On the waters of doubt have been 

drifted, 
Sun-tipped in the gloom of Eclipse. 



ST. PAUL. 53 

Shine on, thou proud figure, for- 
ever. 
Though the sun that first saw thee 
hath set. 
Shine on, all thy years cannot sever 
The glory that hangs round thee 
yet. 
And though thou dip farther and 
farther, 
As a sail down the trend of the 
sea; 
Great Spirit ! 'Twill serve but the 
rather, 
To bring us the nearer to thee. 



54 ST. PAUL. 

The chieftains that ravished those re- 
gions, 
Lie dead in the days that are done ; 
We hear not the tread of their 
legions, 
We heed not the conquests they 
won. 
But still like a shout, undiminished, 
Over city and hamlet and home ; 
" I have fought a good fight ! " "I 
have finished ! " 
Rings out of that dungeon at Rome. 



ST. PAUL. 55 

He went as he came, like a victor, 
He went as he came, by the 
sword ; 
But not by the blow of the lictor. 
But the knight-errant touch of the 
Lord. 
With the stars for processional splen- 
did. 
Through the triumphal-arch of the 
sky : 
He passed, like a conqueror attend- 
ed, 
And more than a conqueror on 
high. 



56 ST. PAUL. 

O Paul ! though the world from thy 
preaching, 
Should turn with the stream to the 
sea j 
'Twere enough for the truth of thy 
teaching, 
Had it wrought in the whole world, 
but thee. 
Thou hast need of no sculptor or 
painter 
To freshen the power of thy face. 
For fairer as others grow fainter. 

Thou shaft leave on each spirit thy 
trace. 



ST. PAUL. 57 

Albeit the creeds of the Ages, 

Rave fiercely with ravin and ramp ; 

Like lions m opposite cages, 
Like cannon in opposite camp. 



Albeit that men are defending 



Christ's love with the sword and the 
stave ; 
All sects o'er his body are blend- 
ing, 

As sons at a sweet mother's grave. 



5-8 ST. PA UL : 

Beheaded — but Jesus hath crowned 
him, 

"Well done" is the wreath of his 
fame ; 
Forsaken — but nations are round him, 

To echo the sound of his name. 
Imprisoned — but space is the portal, 

Flung sheer to his ministering soul ; 
Immured — but forever immortal, 

To the racer that presses the goal. 



ST. PA UL. 59 

The Colossus has strid from its col- 
umn, 
The banquets are cold in their bow- 
ers ; 
The water sleeps mastless and solemn, 
And the moon on the mouldering 
towers. 
The idols no longer are reaching 

Their palms to the worshipper's 
call ; 
But Paul, on that pedestal preaching. 

Stands alone there forever, o'er all. 



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